Kokoro
by Adularia-chan
Summary: Nakago's thoughts during the final episode *spoilers*. Please read and review.


Author's Notes: This is pretty much the result of rewatching the entire second half of the series.  It's really just a sketch and an attempt to put some of my thoughts onto paper.  It's from Nakago's point of view, obviously.  Please read and review.

Disclaimer:  I don't own Fushigi Yuugi, am not pretending to and would really prefer not to be sued.

            It is finished.  Words cannot express the sense of relief I feel as my mind finally comes to realize this.  After countless years of meticulous planning, of setting in motion these events of the past few months, all has come to an end, though not the one I had intended.  How strange it seems that I should feel a sense of contentment even as my heart's beating slows to a halt.

            Tamahome is looking up at me now with a horror in his eyes that I have never seen there before.  He looks older somehow, as though he aged several years in the last few moments.  He seems…confused.  Only minutes ago he possessed such complete conviction, such a sense of purpose.  

            Even I must confess that he was a wonder to behold in that brief period.  He aura became temporarily visible, so that his entire body blazed with scarlet light.  The character on his forehead was nearly blinding to look at.  Even his hair responded to the energy pouring out of him and it stood on end, giving him a striking resemblance to the god he then represented.

            And his eyes…they looked like those of a man possessed.  Perhaps they were.  His face was openly twisted in a snarl and those eyes which were now a searing violet held no trace of doubt, only raw hatred and utter certainty.  In all honesty, I had difficulty seeing the Tamahome who had been my rival and unwitting pawn for so long in this new being.  This was a physical manifestation of the phoenix god and his supporters, though that boy's enduring passion and excessive emotion was there as well.

            But now, I see little of that.  His turquoise locks have fallen back into their normal, if somewhat disorderly state and his eyes have lost their near demonic fire.  He is, once again, just a boy, not the mythic creature who drove his fist through my chest.

            I know what he must have seen just now.  As images of my life, memories I ruthlessly buried long ago, floated through my mind, I know that he saw them as well.  He witnessed what no other living person ever has.  He saw me as I once had been, naïve and untainted by this wretched world.  He saw me gazing wide-eyed at the people who ran away from me in fear and as I asked my mother why they hated us.  

            And he saw the more bitter pieces of my existence, as those are the ones still most clearly defined in my memory.  He watched by my side as my screaming mother was forced down and raped, as my entire world erupted in flames.  He felt my anguish as the blue character came into life on my forehead and reduced her to a pile of ash.  He felt my shame and nausea when the Emperor forced himself upon me and saw the world through my tear-filled eyes as I waited miserably for death, knowing that I could never face it willingly even though I desired rest.

            Now, for the first time perhaps, a shred of understanding comes to him.  Until now he saw this scene with perfect clarity.  He was the traditional hero, fighting with courage, strength and honor for all that he cherished.  He held the moral high ground and was, naturally, standing for what was right.  I was his opposite, the cold, heartless monstrosity who had committed every transgression that man has ever given name to.  

            Ah, how I would love to be able to hear his thoughts right now, to know exactly what it is like for him when his entire world is flipped over in an instant.  Nothing has changed.  I am still the unfeeling monster that I was, and yet, he now is capable of seeing everything from a perspective that was hopelessly beyond his grasp before.

            He looks at his arm which is still sunken deep within my flesh and at his blood-soaked fist protruding from my back with an air of perplexity and even faint regret.  So convinced he was that this was the correct thing to do, the noble thing to do, and now…now he appears to be unsure.

            "Why didn't you move?" he asks desperately.  The demon character is fading from his skin and his hatred has now been fully replaced by pity.  Pity, such a stupid waste of emotion.  Even now I feel contempt for it.  

            In a way I wish that had never seen that forbidden piece of myself.  I would almost have preferred to see him standing over my vanished body looking typically immature yet triumphant with his companions, the demon mark still glowing, still mocking me with it's accurate representation of myself.  Yes, I think I would have preferred to see him like that.

            We are opposites, he and I.  He had always held a certain interest to me, though I can't completely say why.  How ironic it is that he should be the only one who would ever really know…

            But that really does not matter now.  As I said to him, he was stronger, and the strong survive.  That is simply the way of life and there is nothing to be done about it.  I will rest now, free from my accursed life, free from my web of ambitions.  

            Yes, it is finished.


End file.
